


rapt

by V_fics



Series: V's ML fics [16]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Emilie Agreste Lives, F/M, Horror, Not Beta Read, Sentimonster (Miraculous Ladybug)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 09:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21251225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_fics/pseuds/V_fics
Summary: Emilie dreams of confined spaces and bleeding hands.





	rapt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xTheBlackAngelx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTheBlackAngelx/gifts).

> English:  
**rapt** _(adjective):_ completely fascinated by what one is seeing or hearing.

She wakes up in light, the rays shining down upon her, blinding bright eyes, and colouring her vision with moving shadows. Someone is speaking, but their voice is muffled and distant. She cannot hear clearly, as though someone has plugged her ears with foam, and left her to listen to the beating of her heart.

Ba-thump… Ba-thump… Ba-thump…

The heartbeats are slow. Her breathing is slow. She is prone, resting against something, and yet she is so very tired.

_Let me out_, she cannot say. The voice in her cannot leave her lips. _Please, let me out._

A figure eclipses the light, casting darkness over her, and encasing themselves in shadow. She tries to make out their face.

Her hand reaches out for this stranger. _Help me, set me free, I want to go home._

The figure leans backwards, the light filters back in, and they walk away.

She screams a sound no human can hear, and her hands sting and bleed for freedom.

_Please help me, don’t leave me here by myself. You can't leave me **here**._

The lights go dark and she is alone again.

“Did you have that dream again?”

Eggs, bacon, toast. Gabriel has taken to homemade breakfasts since her return. He hasn’t done so since they were in university. Emilie appreciates the effort; Gabriel was always the better cook of the two of them.

“You can tell?” she answers, stirring her coffee idly as Gabriel works over the electric stove. He doesn’t want Adrien to have anything that isn’t fresh out of the pan.

“I’m worried is all,” he replies, flipping the strips of meat. He’s set aside his glasses to cook in the steam. His eyesight isn’t as poor as it could be. Then again, no amount of makeup can cover up how exhausted she’s been. It’s as though no amount of sleep could truly leave her well-rested.

“It’s always the same,” she says, pushing her food around her plate. Gabriel looks up at her, but she keeps fiddling with the egg whites. “Doctor Delacroix thinks they’re memories, or what my brain interprets as the memories of my kidnapping.”

The fork scrapes against the ceramic. Her fingers tingle with the phantom injury of breaking all her nails clawing at an invisible wall.

Gabriel rests a hand on her wrist. The scraping stops.

Many say Gabriel’s eyes are too cold, too chilling of a blue, but Emilie is one of the few people he’s never been able to intimidate. 

“Whatever happened to you in the past two years,” Gabriel says slowly, brushing her hair behind her ear, “it’s over now. You are safe, my love. You are safe and you are alive and you are back home with Adrien and with me. Whatever these dreams mean, they will pass, and we will move on together.”

Their foreheads touch.

“I’m here for you, Emilie,” he promises her. “I am always here with you.”

She can’t help but smile. “I see you’re as sappy as ever,” she tries to joke, but a pressure rises behind her eyes.

Gabriel tucks her head into his chest and Emilie breathes in the scent of cooking oil and salt.

She’s free, she’s safe, she’s home.

The bacon ends up a little burnt by the time Adrien comes down for breakfast. Gabriel is appropriately ashamed, but Adrien hugs him around the middle and his sheer delight is bittersweet to Emilie. Gabriel was never good with his emotions, but Adrien gives her a good morning hug as well, then sits down to join them.

It is harder to reconnect with Adrien than it was with Gabriel. Gabriel hasn’t changed very much in two years; he is gaunter and thinner and there’s a shadow of loss in his eyes, and a defensive sting his bite that is less of a predator barking out warnings and more of a prey trying to protect themselves.

But Adrien, oh… Adrien is taller, lankier than she remembers. The remnants of baby fat have shed and although his eyes are still the same, there’s something keenly different about them. He’s much more sociable, much more outgoing, but around her, there is still something keeping them apart.

Perhaps, it is the misuse of the Butterfly Miraculous that has changed her son so. The trauma of akuma attacks is something she has yet to witness. Heaven knows, Gabriel will do his best to keep her from it as well.

“Adrien,” she says, when Nathalie arrives to prompt him to leave. “Do you mind if I ride with you to school?”

Adrien shares a quick look with his father, and Emilie’s smile twitches.

“I won’t even leave the car,” she says preemptively. “And it’s a school, the media won’t be crawling around there.” She frowns slightly. “I want to be able to see you off, it’ll be the first time.”

Adrien and Gabriel give in, and in the background, she can see Nathalie’s lips quirk into the briefest of smiles before falling into her usual professionalism. There’s a lightness in her chest, and Emilie feels alive.

She doesn’t know a lot about Adrien’s friends, only that they exist. Adrien’s spent the bulk of his time with her since her return, and from what she suspects, his friends don’t want to intrude on that. Adrien hasn’t said much in the two weeks, besides that his friends are happy to see she’s back. She hopes they’re truly Adrien’s friends, and not just doing so for his connections.

“Have a good day at school,” she says, kissing his forehead. She imagines most boys his age would blush and push their mothers away, complaining about how uncool it is to be dropped off by their parent, but Adrien leans into her embrace and simply promises he will.

Pierre opens the door for Adrien, and makes sure to block Emilie from the view of the nearby students. To her relief, she can see most of them don’t really pay attention to Adrien. Then again, he’d been in school for two years; the novelty must have worn off at some point.

The door closes and Emilie instructs Pierre to wait a bit. She watches, as Adrien is approached by two students, a red haired girl and a boy with a baseball cap. Adrien’s posture goes from spirited to slack in a moment, and Emilie can gauge a gravity on the girl’s face.

“Alya Cesaire and Nino Lahiffe,” Pierre informs her.

“They’re Adrien’s friends?” she murmurs.

Alya turns away and Adrien and Nino follow her. Emilie knows people well enough to see the anxiety in their walk.

“Two of them,” Pierre says.

The three enter the school and out of her sight. Emilie leans back into her seat and buckles herself back in.

“Take the long way back to the estate,” she says, “and tell me about Adrien’s friends.”

“Did you know that one of Adrien’s friends went missing three months ago?”

Gabriel looks up from his sketches, not a hint of alarm on his face. She remembers an ex or two of his shaking him down for his lack of emotion or interest. She knows him better than that.

“Yes, I do know,” he says, and he makes a point of setting down his stylus and tablet. “Miss Marinette won a contest I hosted, and even Audrey praised her design. I didn’t know her as well as I could have, but she was a very kind and had quite the skill for fashion. I was distressed to hear she’d gone missing, and Adrien was quite upset as well. I recall that even Miss Chloe took her disappearance poorly.”

Emilie frowns and sits down on one of the sofas in Gabriel’s office. Her husband picks up his stylus again and resumes his work.

“Pierre told me she had a crush on Adrien,” Emilie says slowly. “Did you ever notice?”

“Yes,” Gabriel says.

“Is that why she won the contest?”

“Of course not,” Gabriel replies. “They hardly knew each other when that contest was held. But she always had Adrien’s well-being in mind.”

“By that you mean…?”

The stylus freezes, and Emilie stares at Gabriel’s hairline.

“Adrien did something… foolish, a few months after starting school. It was what caused my akumatisation. I was angry and I forbade him from continuing public schooling. Miss Marinette showed up and took the fall for something that wasn’t her fault in order to convince me to allow Adrien to return.”

“That’s kind of her, considering who you are,” Emilie says. “You could have ruined her career before it even started, if you hadn’t known she was lying.”

“Miss Marinette was kind to a fault,” Gabriel says, and the stylus moves again. “I think you would have liked her as well, if she were here.”

“I usually get along well with girls who are brave enough to stand up to you.”

Gabriel tosses her a look. Emilie gives him a picture perfect smile in return. His lips quirk.

“I know Nathalie is your assistant,” she begins, standing up. “But since we’re still vetting my future PA, can I borrow her for a bit?”

“I’m sure she would be glad to help,” Gabriel says, and waves her on.

Emilie doesn’t know Nathalie all that well. Nathalie has always been Gabriel’s assistant after all, and thoroughly divorced from Emilie’s side of things. From what she’s gleaned, Nathalie basically became Adrien’s new nanny after Gabriel dumped all parenting duties for her to organise. Poor woman deserved a raise and an early retirement, for all the labour laws Gabriel must have broken.

Perhaps it shows, too, for Nathalie has never looked more overworked. There’s an exhaustion to her eyes and to every movement she makes. She’s attentive and alert, but her work has clearly worn her down to the bone.

“I saw Adrien looking worried this morning with his friends,” she prefaces in what used to be her office. In two years, Gabriel has refused to touch it, besides sending housekeeping to fight dust mites. Now, she has no idea what she’ll even do in there, but it doesn’t feel quite right to talk to Nathalie about business in her own dining room. “Pierre told me it may have been related to Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s appearance.”

Nathalie’s face is coolly professional, as it’s always been. She’s stoic and detached and it’s exactly what Gabriel wants in a secretary. Pity, it’s not quite what Adrien needed in a parental figure.

“This Saturday is her funeral,” Nathalie says, as though she’s listing off the weather. “Adrien texted me after school began to free up his schedule that day.”

“Did you know her?” Emilie asks.

Nathalie’s professionalism doesn’t waver.

“Yes, I did,” she says, “I communicated with her on Gabriel’s behalf. She seemed like a nice girl.”

“So I’ve heard,” Emilie says smoothly. “Thank you, Nathalie. If you don’t mind, could you get me her parents’ phone number before I let you get back to work?”

Nathalie hands it over without a moment to waste.

“If I may ask,” Nathalie begins. Emilie meets her eyes, but the woman doesn’t flinch. “Do you have an interest in Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Emilie frowns and stares a little harder at her husband’s secretary. Dear lord, was Gabriel really this blase about the divide between work and personal life? She really ought to talk to him about it later.

“You may not ask,” she says simply, tucking the copied number into her pocket. “Miss Sancoeur, I’m sorry that Gabriel has treated you like so for the two years I’ve been missing, but whatever work you do for him need not extend to me.”

“Of course,” Nathalie takes the reprimand gracefully and professionally. “My apologies for intruding. Please excuse me.”

Nathalie leaves the office, and the door shuts with a click. It is silent, and all Emilie can hear is the pounding of her heart.

Cold shame washes over her. There was no need for that, Nathalie was used to crossing the lines between personal and profession for Gabriel, he probably asked her all the time for advice on how to deal with Adrien, if not outright dumping the duty onto her. She was only doing as she saw fit, and Emilie had scolded her for it.

The blonde leans against her desk, reaching her hand into her pocket and pulling out the Dupain-Chengs' number. She wants to be there with Adrien, to support him in his time of loss. She knew her return couldn’t have been all sunshine and daisies, but she hadn’t expected Adrien to be mourning someone else.

She shouldn’t go, she thinks, running her eyes over the numbers. She’s Emilie Agreste, recently kidnapped movie star and model, she’d completely overshadow the funeral if the media caught wind, or even if anyone else noticed her.

But Adrien, he would be upset, and she wouldn’t be there to offer her shoulder to cry on. She wants to be there for him, through the pain and the grief, for the two years she’d missed with him, and the years before that where she kept him locked up in fear of her and Gabriel’s pasts coming to haunt them.

Yet, Adrien has spent two years in danger of a magical terrorist without her. Who is to say he even needed her? What can she offer that his friends who suffered with him could not? Who is she, to step in, a clear reminder of the horrors that could have befallen his friend, and to offer her support?

The number is crumpled up and stuck back in her pocket.

Adrien comes home after school and brings along a friend. Emilie doesn’t recognise her from the school yard, but the girl stands tall as Adrien introduces her as Kagami Tsurugi, a friend from his fencing class. Emilie tries not to overthink what Pierre had told her of Alya and Nino, that there must be a reason why Adrien is willing to introduce Kagami first.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Mrs. Agreste,” Miss Tsurugi says. “Adrien’s told me a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” Emilie replies, and the children laugh on cue. “Are you two studying for a test together?”

“I only attend fencing with Adrien,” Kagami says, “I go to a private school.”

Perhaps that’s why he introduced her first, thinks Emilie, to make the best impression. Privately educated, sophisticated, and likely from a significant family, Miss Tsurugi likely has more to her name than any of Adrien’s other friends.

“I see,” Emilie says, after neither of them follow-up with an explanation. “Would you like something to eat?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Agreste,” Kagami replies with a polite smile.

“I actually just needed to pick something up before we head out to a friend’s place,” Adrien says, shifting on his feet. Emilie can identify that he wants to grab whatever it is and leave.

“Which friend?” she asks, her voice level.

“Nino,” Adrien says, taking a few steps towards the stairs. “He’s been my best friend since I started public school. Anyway, just let me get my stuff and I’ll be right back.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Agreste, we’re in a bit of a hurry,” Kagami says, and the girl follows after Adrien, leaving Emilie to stare at them from the ground floor.

She’s beginning to feel like a stranger in her own home, Emilie realises. Gabriel, Adrien, Nathalie, Pierre—they are all more or less the way she remembers them, but they’ve grown in the two years she was missing, whereas she has forgotten that time completely. Emilie Agreste has returned, but to a world that’s the same yet ever so different.

Emilie spends most of her days catching up on the past two years by reading news articles. She breaks the monotony of real life developments with the TV shows and movies she’s missed in two years. It’s quite an indulgent way to kill time. Even technology has changed slightly in two years, and she won’t lie, some of the new website layouts make her feel even older than she actually is.

The akuma attacks are her main interest in terms of real world news. Ladybug, Chat Noir, Hawk Moth, the little gang of one-off superheroes. What danger Paris has been in, some of which directly affected her family, and yet they strode on without mentioning it. A number of students at Adrien’s school were akumatised, yet the school yard of young teens seemed just as normal as ever.

The doorbell rings. Once, then twice, then insistently so. Emilie pauses the news clip playing on the TV and stands, making her way through the mansion to the front door. She has got to ask Gabriel to rehire their butler.

Chloe Bourgeois manages to stand still for half a second before flinging herself into Emilie’s arms. The girl begins crying immediately, and Emilie pats her back comfortingly as the grand door swings back shut.

“I waited two weeks!” Chloe says through a stream of tears. “That’s long enough, right?”

She’s grown taller, Emilie notices, and it’s not just from the heels squeaking against the floor. She smells of perfume and Emilie’s quite certain that when Chloe pulls away, there will more than just tears and snot on her blouse.

“Thank you for waiting,” Emilie says softly, rubbing circles into the girl’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go to you first.”

“I needed—I needed—” the girl devolves into tears again, and Emilie coaxes her into the kitchen.

There are some pastries left behind in the pantry, at least, but Chloe takes one look at them and bursts into tears again.

“Damn it,” she says, “it’s all Marinette’s fault!”

Emilie frowns, but sits down next to her and takes a pain au chocolat. Chloe tends to speak without explaining herself. That hasn’t changed.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Chloe.” Emilie’s voice is gentle. “But I’m happy to see you again.”

“Yeah, I’m…” Chloe sniffles, bright blue eyes red and watery. “I’m really happy to see you too and it’s kind of really fucked up because of Marinette. She’s this girl in Adrien and mine’s class and she went missing like three months ago and Adrien was lying to _everyone_ about how he knew she’d be fine because he’s always just that sort of stupid optimist and I _told_ him not to lie to me because that’s what everyone said about you when you disappeared but now you’re back and Marinette still isn’t and I’m so happy you’re safe but they’re burying an empty fucking coffin for Marinette this weekend and I would never say this but it’s too fucking soon!”

The blonde lets out a huff and Emilie pushes a tissue box at her. Chloe wipes at her eyes and smears mascara over her face.

“You don’t like Marinette, but you feel as though everyone’s giving up on her already,” Emilie summarises.

“Yeah, I like…” Chloe rubs at her eyes. “Sorry, you don’t even know what I’m talking about, right?”

“I’m aware that one of Adrien’s friends went missing a while ago,” Emilie says. “I imagine you and her didn’t get along?”

“Oh I hate her. Hated her. I don’t know. She was always so sweet and stupid and _embarrassing_ and once troisième started she started trying to start shit with me and everyone just _loved_ her for being so ‘nice’ and ‘sweet’ but really they just liked her because she did favours for them and she had this huge crush on Adrien that anyone with eyes could see and I _thought_ it was just because of who Mr. Agreste is but then my fucking _mother_ showed up for the showing of that damned hat Marinette made and my mother praised her and tried to take her to New York! Like _her_, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she was _fourteen_, Mrs. Emilie, and my mother wanted to take her all the way to the States. _That’s_ how god damned likeable she is and now they want to bury her after only three months?”

Chloe’s tears stop midway through her rant, but her fingers are clenched tightly around a ball of tissue. For all her vitriol towards someone who has apparently been a long time enemy, it looks like she did still care to some degree about the girl. And Emilie has to admit, Audrey giving the green light on a rising star is usually a very good sign.

What a shame.

“I mean, just,” Chloe’s mouth clicks, then opens. “Mr. Agreste didn’t even bury you after two years.”

Emilie grimaces. A confined space, struggling to break free, being trapped; even if it’s an empty coffin, she doesn’t want to imagine it.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, right?” Chloe asks. She grabs Emilie’s shoulder instinctively.

That’s new, at least. Chloe’s changed too, in the past two years.

“I’m fine, Chloe,” Emilie says, prying Chloe’s hand off her shoulder and squeezing it. “Thank you for worrying about me. I appreciate it.”

“I…” Chloe sits back down, but doesn’t pull her hand away. “I learned a lot in the two years you’ve been missing. I think…”

“I can tell,” Emilie smiles softly. “And I’m very proud of you.”

Chloe’s eyes tear up again. Emilie imagines she hasn’t heard that in a while.

“God this is so dumb,” Chloe says, pulling her hand away to grab more tissues. “This is really dumb.”

“It’s not, Chloe,” Emilie says.

“No, it is, it’s just, I can see—” Chloe hiccoughs and wipes at her eyes. “This is so stupid, but your smile reminds me of her.”

“My smile?” Emilie blinks. It’s the first time in the whole conversation she’s thoroughly confounded. “Reminds you of…”

“Never mind,” Chloe sniffles. “It’s nothing. I feel like I see her in everything nowadays. I think Adrien and Cesaire and Lahiffe and Tsurugi do the same too. I’ll look at a dress and think ‘Oh, Marinette could probably design something better’, or like I saw those pastries you offered me and I just think of how she used to give out macarons and croissants to the class and I swear it’s like she’s haunting me or something.”

“That’s grief, Chloe,” Emilie says gently. “You’re mourning.”

“But why?” Chloe demands, and her voice cracks. “I didn’t even _like _her! I hated her since the moment we met and she hated me too when she wasn’t trying to be a goody-two-shoes!”

“Because you’re human, Chloe. You’re human, and you knew her, and even if you hated her, I don’t think you’re so cold as to be unaffected by her absence.”

“God I forgot how—” Chloe motions vaguely with her hands and turns her head away. She’s blushing slightly, but Emilie will pretend it’s the aftermath of crying. Chloe’s head tilts down. “I… I missed you, though.”

“I missed you too, Chloe. It sounds like you and Adrien and everyone in Paris have gone through quite a lot, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for either of you.”

“Nah,” Chloe shrugs dismissively. “I’m… happy you’re back, at least. I know… a bit about what happened to you, and… you know… if you wanted to talk about it…”

“Chloe,” Emilie’s chest feels light. She stands and wraps the girl in a hug. “You don’t need to worry about me, worry about yourself right now.”

“Then who gets to worry about you?” Chloe asks, and she sounds just as she did when she was younger.

Emilie chuckles and pulls back slightly. “You know how Gabriel is, he’ll do enough worrying for everyone.”

“Really?” Chloe deadpans, her warm tone dropping cold. “Do you even know what he’s done while you were away?”

“I do,” Emilie says, pulling away. “And I will be talking to him about it.”

Chloe huffs, but lets the matter drop. That in itself is a definite development Emilie wasn’t present for, but she wouldn’t miss it either.

“Where is he anyway?” Chloe asks.

“He’s at the office building,” Emilie says. “Nathalie is with him.”

“Right,” Chloe frowns.

“It’s getting late,” Emilie checks the clock. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I could try to make us something, or I could just call the chef in.”

Chloe’s eyes light up. “If you make something, can I help?”

“When did you start liking cooking?”

“I…” Chloe’s expression falters for a moment. “Marinette’s dad used to host baking lessons at the school. I hated them at first, but… I guess they’re not as dumb as I thought.” She gives another shrug.

Emilie smiles.

“Of course, you can help me, Chloe.”

Blue eyes brighten, and Emilie feels alive.

She wakes up in darkness and silence. There is no muffled speaking, only the slow rhythm of her heart. The blood from her fingers have dripped down to her wrists and dried. She still can’t move.

_Am I dead yet? _

She breathes, but it does nothing. She cannot stop herself from breathing. She cannot stop her heart from beating. All she can do is lay there, her body a cage within a cage, and suffer alone.

_Please… Please… Let me out… I want to go home… _

A light flickers on in the distance. One, then another, then another, leading up to where she’s imprisoned. Slow footsteps approach her, chilling and calm.

The face looms over her once more, hidden in shadow by the light behind them.

_You… _she cannot say, but if she could move, there would be hate in her eyes.

“I wish I could say I am sorry," the figure says, moving away. "But I know you don't like liars—”

The light passes reflects onto the stranger's face, and at last, she sees him.

_“Maman, please stop!”_

Her hands release the neck between them, and she shuffles off of the body. The room is brightly lit, yet she can’t seem to see anything at all. Her pyjamas are soaked with sweat, her heart is beating hard, and she can’t breathe enough air. She finally registers she’s on the floor, her back to the bed frame; she’s in her and Gabriel’s bedroom.

Adrien is kneeling down next to his father, who’s pressed up against the opposite wall and coughing. His face is purple-red with blood, and his hands are at at his neck — the neck she had been strangling. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, without even knowing what’s she saying. “I saw, I just saw a face and it was yours and I thought—I thought—”

“You’re _safe_,” Gabriel repeats, and coughs again. His face is still an unnatural red. “You’re safe, Emilie, you’re free, you’re home.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, over and over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He manages to stand with Adrien's help and approaches her, kneeling before her, gentle and cautious—for her sake, not his. 

“It’s not,” she says, “I’m not. I’m—”

Gabriel takes her hand and presses her palm over his fist, and through the trembles of adrenaline, Emilie can feel the cold metal of his wedding band against her hand.

“You’re safe, Emilie. You’re with me, and with Adrien, and I know that these nightmares will pass. What happened to you was an atrocity, and it will never ever happen again. You are loved and protected. Isn’t that right, Adrien?”

“Yeah,” Adrien’s voice is weak, and he clears his throat. “Dad’s right.” He sits down next to them. “Whatever those awful monsters did to you, Mom, it’s never gonna happen again. You’re safe with us.”

“And if I…” her head hurts, she can’t stop crying. “If I’m a danger to you?”

“You are not,” Gabriel intones, his other hand pressing over hers, squeezing it between his. The wedding ring burns cold between them. “These nightmares aren’t real anymore, Emilie.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “It’ll be okay. We will be okay.”

Emilie breathes, and breathes, and breathes. Her fingers are not bleeding. It is not Gabriel standing over her cage. She is loved. She is alive. She is safe. She is free.

“I love you,” she whispers through teary eyes. “I love you both so much.”

Adrien crawls under her free arm to hug her, and Gabriel embraces them both.

“We’re safe,” Emilie whispers, staring out with green eyes that aren’t quite there. “We’re home.”

The lights are on and she will never be alone again.

_pl e a s e . . . le t me o u t. . . i wa n t to g o h o m e i w an t t o go h o m e i w a n t to g o ** h o m e**_

**Author's Note:**

> French:  
**rapt** _(noun):_ kidnapping, abduction.
> 
> Plot explanation because I wrote in one sitting and it probably makes zero sense anyway so basically five thousand years ago when everyone was coming up with “oh what if XYZ is a sentimonster” I came up with the idea that the Peacock can create life, but it’ll siphon the soul from the creator. So the idea here is that Marinette was kidnapped, then eventually akumatised into making Emilie’s corpse a sentimonster by leeching off of Marinette’s life. 
> 
> Gabriel drops an amnesiac Emilie in the middle of Paris, has her found by the cops, and Emilie has flashes of memories of being imprisoned (in reality, what Marinette is suffering through) which lends credence to the idea that she was kidnapped and then repressed the memories out of trauma. 
> 
> So basically Gabriel recreates his perfect dependent wife by torturing a child. Because he’s just creepy enough to do that honestly.
> 
> Sorry, this was supposed to end with Emilie refusing to listen to Gabriel’s orders to move on and eventually figuring out the truth. But I like horror that fucks everything up. So yea.


End file.
